An Amazing Reaction
by Deliciously-Devient
Summary: In which Peter is innocent, Wade is perverted, Steve and Tony disapprove, and there's a 'ghost' haunting Stark Tower. Superfamily, Spideypool. Rated M for future sexeh time.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Spidey! Psst! Over here!"

A sigh and a roll of the eyes, because, _really, _Wade was annoying. Spiderman looked up and his eyebrows met his forehead behind his mask. Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool and one of Peter's closest friends, was hanging from a fire escape on a wire pulley, his mask pulled up to his nose to reveal scarred skin and plump lips.

"Imitating much, Pool Party?" Peter said, sauntering over to his best friend, glad his mask hid the fact that his eyes had zeroed in on Wade's lips. He so rarely saw the man without his mask on, seeing any of his skin was a treat, and this view of his lips would no doubt end in fap material for later...

The grin that spread across Wade's lips was both intensely creepy and horribly endearing. He found himself smiling back and crossed his arms, relaxing slightly in the secluded alley. The sounds of motors and car horns sighed distantly, but here, it was just the two of them. Two friends who had known each other for years, sharing a smile and a laugh.

"Whatya say, Pete?" Wade said, and his voice was lower than normal, deeper. "How about one of those famous Spiderman kisses?"

Peter snorted, and then immediately felt bad about it by the way Wade's grin fell. "Oh. Uh. You're...you're serious?" he asked incredulously.

"You know I never joke about kisses," Wade said, smirking. His voice pitched even lower and one of his hands curled around Peter's neck. "Or the things that follow kisses."

Peter gulped, and grinned beneath his mask. He was never one to miss an opportunity, and this one was especially golden. He'd been lusting after Wade for months now, and if he was offering...far be it from Peter to deny him. His fingers were pulling his mask up over his lips, and his lush lips were sure as they found those of his best friend and sometimes hero partner.

When their lips met...it was as if Peter had found home. A spark, a pulse of light and happiness glowed from where their lips met, snaked it's way down the superhero's throat and settled just above his heart. He'd kissed other people before -more than he was ever willing to admit to his parents- but none of those kisses, not one, was even _close _to this. This was...this was breath taking, this was all consuming, this was...

It was _love._

And it was absolutely electrifying.

The kiss itself was chaste; there were no warring tongues, no lingering and indecent caresses, and only a mild spark of sexual interest. It was a long moment before Peter could find it in himself to pull away from Wade, his eyes flicking open -when had he closed them?- and his lips quirking up in a grin.

"Wow," he said, touching his still tingling lips, his heart thumping heavily in his chest, still warm with the depth of emotion he had felt when kissing Wade. The mercenary grinned at him, swinging his body around and landing upright in front of the hero.

"I second that exclamation," Wade said, tugging his mask back over his face. Peter followed suit, feeling slightly exposed with his face bared.

"So...what brought that on?" Peter asked, feeling his cheeks heat in belated embarrassment. "Not that I mind too terribly, I'm just curious."

Wade seemed to sober, and Peter could tell that his usual grin was missing from under his mask. "I'm going away...for a while," he said, and his voice was, again, deeper than usual. "On a mission. And I just wanted you to know how I felt, you know. Just in case I don't come back."

Peter frowned, curious. "What are you talking about, DP? You always come back from missions," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Deadpool shrugged, and there was a moment of acute tension that made Peter nervous, and then Wade was laughing.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just being melodramatic. See you in a few weeks, Spidey," Wade said, and he was off, rushing through the buildings, out of sight before Spiderman swung away.

Peter shook his head and returned to his Saturday task of protecting New York from criminals and whatnot. He returned to his home, Stark Tower, just five minutes before his curfew, thoroughly bruised and aching, but satisfied with his work. Steve fussed over him, as usual, shoving food and kisses in his face while Tony gave him thumbs ups over the blonds head.

"I know what you're doing, Tony," Steve said as his back was turned to the brunette, who had been congratulating Peter on creative web uses during the bank robbery he had broken up last week. "Stop encouraging him; I'm still hoping this is just a phase."

Tony grinned at Peter, unashamedly. "Hey, if our kid wants to be a hero like his dads, I can't blame him; we _are _pretty awesome role models," the billionaire said, stealing a fry off Peter's plate.

"Hey! I was gonna eat that!" Peter protested, and only received ruffled hair for his troubles.

"Sorry Squirt. You know the rules; if you aren't guarding it, it's mine," his dad replied, and received a smack to the back of the head, courtesy of Steve. "Ow! What was that for?"

Steve smirked, his blue eyes glimmering with mischief. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Peter snickered at his parents, and returned to his dinner. He focused on his food, but he didn't miss the shared, sad look his parents shared over his head. He frowned to himself, wondering what could illicit such behavior, and then remembered that it was October. He felt a little pang of sadness himself, thinking of the brown eyed, purple shirted and soft spoken man he had never been able to meet.

Bruce Banner had died, seventeen years ago, in October; it was the same month, and ever since he could remember, it had always been a sad one in the Stark-Rogers household. He knew his parents had shared an intense love with the deceased man, and he regretted that he had never known the man who had made his birth possible. Over the years, Peter had noticed all the odd things his parents would do during the month of October; it was almost a bit of a ritual for them. Steve would spend hours in Bruce's old lab, which had remained perfectly preserved since the last day it had been used by its owner, drawing scenes from memory of the biologist doing various scientific things. Tony would sit on the large, old leather couch in the movie room with one of Bruce's purple shirts, a faint smile on his face as he watched old Disney movies. Sometimes Steve or Peter would join him, and they would watch in silence, Peter trying to lend his parent comfort.

But the most intimate ritual happened on the anniversary of Bruce's death. Steve and Tony would start the day early, watching movies with some of Bruce's things near them. If he wasn't at school, Peter would do this with them. When the sun set, however, the couple and their son would retire to the Green Room, and lay together on the enormous bed. No words were exchanged, no condolences given, no sadness expressed. No, the family lay together in silence, the one sound their breathing and the soft jazz Bruce had preferred filtering through Jarvis's speakers. Peter had never thought that doing this with his dads was weird, even when he entered his awkward teen years. He knew that he bore a striking resemblance to the scientist who had been his third father, and he felt no embarrassment or shame in helping his parents through a rough time.

He knew the love his three fathers had shared was pure and lovely; Uncle Thor and Aunt Natasha always spoke of what they had with soft smiles, and reminisced about Bruce with hurt in their eyes. He only wanted to help them, to get to know his third father through those shared moments of jazz music and silence. Sure, both men talked about Bruce; often Tony would remark that Peter's hair stuck up in the back in just the same way that Bruce's had, and then go on to tell one story or another about one of their scientific exploits, or Steve would talk about how Bruce had taught him how to text message, and that only Peter had the patience to teach him technological stuff now. He felt closer to his dads during these stories, but he felt close to Bruce on those quiet nights, really felt connected to the man he had never known.

He stood and rinsed his plate, smiling at his parents and giving each of them a long hug before making his way to his room after saying goodnight. They didn't need him just yet, but they would soon. He showered quickly, washing away the grime and blood of the day, sighing in relief as the hot water cascaded down his skin and sore muscles. He considered having a bit of 'happy shower fun time' but discarded the idea as soon as it came to him. He was too tired and sleep was more important than masturbation.

He finished his shower and dried himself off, throwing himself onto his bed nude and shimmying under the covers. He stared up at his ceiling for a long moment -it was actually a giant plasma scream- watching the star field he usually preferred to view at night loop.

"Jarvis, play Home Movie Zero," he said quietly, feeling a sense of comfort settle over his heart as the screen flickered to life, revealing a shy, smiling Bruce Banner standing next to the artificial womb that had bore him.

"Hey there Brucey," Tony's voice said, and the frame shifted as he walked closer. "You did it. A giant leap forward for mankind. You gave us a baby."

Bruce blushed slightly, his hand touching the womb gently, as if it were fragile. "You helped. And so did Steve. We all gave us a baby," he said, and Peter smiled, closing his eyes. Bruce had a very soothing voice; Peter had imagined it singing him lullabies on more than one occasion, something he would never admit to another soul. He fell into a deep, peaceful sleep to the sound of his third father exchanging playful banter and science speak with his dad...

X0x0x0x0X

"I hate this time of year."

"I know babe. I do, too."

"I miss him."

"I know."

"It's not fair."

"I know."

"He should _be _here with us. Raising Peter."

"I know."

"I hope...I hope, wherever he is, he know we love him."

"He does, Tony. He does," Steve murmured, pulling his husband closer against his chest. He stroked the soft, slightly graying brown hair, kissing Tony's forehead gently.

Tony looked up at him, his brown eyes gleaming with the light of the Arc reactor, and Steve smiled at him. "I love you, Cap," the billionaire murmured. Steve smiled at him, dropping a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I love you too, Tony," he murmured back. They shared a soft, slow kiss, both of them communicating their love through the simple gesture, both wishing that there was someone else with them to share their love. Seventeen years did little to dull the ache that Bruce's death had left in their hearts, but they had learned to live with it.

They made love, and it was slow and sweet. Their kisses were languid, unhurried, and Steve left large, angry hickies everywhere his mouth could reach. Tony returned the favor, and he wound up on top, riding the super soldier slowly, holding his eyes. They both called out Bruce's name when they found completion, and laid in each others arms after, the love they felt nearly tangible in the air.

"Steve?" Tony murmured as they both lay on the cusp of sleep.

"Hmm?" Steve murred softly back, his eyes heavy.

"Would you ever want to have another child?" Tony question. Steve flicked an eye open, looking at his husband curiously.

"I thought you didn't want any more kids?" he asked softly, gently.

Tony was silent for so long, Steve thought he had fallen asleep. Then: "I think it was selfish of me to demand that of you; I know you wanted a big family and...it took me a long time to realize that losing Bruce didn't mean we had to stop living."

Steve was silent for a long moment, considering his words. "I think...we made the right choice, in not having any more children. I think... I think it would have been painfully obvious that Peter was our favorite."

Tony smiled at that, and nuzzled into Steve's chest more securely. "He is a bit of a spoiled brat, isn't he?"

Steve snorted. "That is entirely your fault, and you know it."

Tony laughed, and closed his eyes. They were quiet, then, and they separated slightly, making a space between them just large enough for a thin scientist.

X0x0x0x0X

Thousands and thousands of miles away, in a world far different than the one Steve and Tony dwelled in, a pair of deep, honey brown eyes opened in the darkness.

"I'm coming back...I'm coming back..."

A/N: Whew. That was an ordeal. Sorry it took so long to get this up, but my modem died, and then my old 2006 desktop kicked the bucket, and...yeah. Anyway, I will try for at least a weekly update, but I'm not making any promises... Please don't lynch me? And review. Those make me happy, and inspire me to work harder. Also, for those who are just joining us, this is the sequel to A Primal Reaction; you might want to go read that before you get confused. Thanks for bearing with me folks.

-Devient


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few days after that Saturday that things in Stark Tower began to get…strange. Not that things weren't usually strange in the household, but this strange was an entirely different kind of strange.

Things began to move. More specifically, things were moving and none of the occupants nor the 'bots Tony created were responsible for their movement. At first, it was small things, small things only Tony noticed, like his expresso machine was moved exactly one inch to the left.

He thought nothing of it and moved it back, his OCD forcing him to right the wrong made by someone who probably shouldn't have been touching his expresso machine in the first place. He collected his caffeinated treat and then returned to his lab.

In his lab, his wrench set was moved, again, exactly one inch to the left. He frowned at it, and wrote it off as U. U was always moving things to clean, and while he usually put things back exactly where he had found them, sometimes his optics needed recalibrating.

When he cracked open U's coding, however, he found that someone had already beat him to it, and installed the fresh updates that had been sitting on his work table some feet away. He frowned.

"JARVIS, did you install U's new updates?" he asked.

"I did not, Sir," JARVIS answered back in his cool, collected voice. Tony frowned harder.

"Was it Peter?" he demanded. While he would be angry with his son for messing with his 'bots without him present, it was a less frightening prospect than anything his mind was currently contemplating.

"Master Peter has not been home since last night," the AI answered, and Tony felt a knot of cold dread settle in his stomach.

"Do you know who installed the updates then?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I…I am afraid I cannot explain this phenomenon, Sir," JARVIS said, an uncharacteristic catch in his normally robotic and dry voice. Tony gulped and shook his head.

He looked deeper into U's coding, seeing that the updates had been installed at three in the morning that day, a few moments after Tony had slumped, defeated by exhaustion, and about twenty minutes before Steve had come down and carried him to bed.

"Bring up the security feed in the lab for three in the morning," he commanded, and JARVIS did as he was asked. Tony watched himself slump at his workbench, watched his chest rise and fall with soft snores and watched as the papers and update chips in front of him started to move of their own accord.

U was charging in his little corner, but as the papers and chips started moving, he lifted his claw and optic attachment and whirred softly, in just the way he would if someone had called his name. Tony watched, incredulous, as U whirred some more and unplugged himself and rolled over to Tony. His jaw dropped as he watched U's coding panel slide open on its own –he'd designed all his bots so that they could only open those panels with someone else's help- and he made a strangled noise as the update chips floated over and attached themselves neatly into U's USB ports and upload all the data, and then detach and return to the table near Tony. Making a little satisfied whir, U returned to his charging station, and a few moments later, Steve entered and collected video Tony.

"Okay. Okay. Stranger things have happened," Tony muttered.

"I would have to beg to differ, Sir," JARVIS said mildly. There was an edge to his computerized voice, and another video feed was brought up, this one time stamped for four thirty in the morning. It was Steve and Tony's room on one side, the other side of the entrance to their room.

"JARVIS, what does this-"

"Just watch, Sir," the AI said, and something in the way he said it made Tony shut up and watch.

The movement started at their door, with the light blue flashes that accompanied someone punching in their security code for the door…there was no one standing in front of the door, however, and when the door opened, no one walked through, though it closed after a moment, as if someone _had_ gone through.

Tony gulped as his focus switched to the view to the sleeping forms of himself and Steve, swallowing hard as he watched their bed dip, the imprint of a knee and a hand rather obvious as they were made. He and Steve shifted, drawing apart slightly, just as they had when…but no, this was nothing like it.

The imprint of another person on the bed was clear, but neither Tony nor Steve woke; in fact, both of them seemed to relax more. The quiet sound of their breathing became obvious, and Tony knew JARVIS had enhanced the audio for a reason. That reason became shatteringly obvious when the voice spoke.

"_Tony,_" it said. "_Steve._"

The billionaire's heart stopped. He quit breathing. He felt faint, dizzy and he thought he was going to vomit. This wasn't possible. Things like this didn't happen. Things like this weren't possible. And yet, the proof was staring him in the eye.

_That was Bruce's voice, _is the last thing he thinks before he passes out.

X0x0x0x0X

Peter was in excruciating pain. Not the physical kind, no. That would be considerably easier to deal with than this…this soul-crushing happening. It was unfair. He felt shaky, his palms were sweaty and he felt like he was going to cry.

"No," he whimpered, holding the broken pieces of George in his hands. "No, you're okay buddy. I'm gonna get you home and get you fixed, okay?" he whispered, caressing the cracked screen of his first and favorite laptop.

"Dude, chill out. It's just a computer," Harry said, his eyes still furrowed in concerned and Peter turned on him, fist shaking.

"You! You shut up! This is your fault!" he hissed at his friend, his blue eyes flashing green for a moment. He had never inherited Bruce's little green problem, but his eyes did change color when he got exceptionally upset. The death of his laptop was one such occasion that managed to get him riled enough to smash something…or someone.

"Just don't even say anything Harry. I'm going home before I give in to the urge to smash _your _computers up," he said, angrily gathering up the remains of George and shoving them in his bag. He stormed out of the Osborn Manor, making his way to his bright green Volkswagen Bug, slamming the door to the thing with much more force than necessary. He was absolutely incensed, and he wanted his dad. Only the billionaire would be to truly understand the depth of hurt Peter was feeling.

He raced home, still fuming, and stomped up the twenty flights of stairs up Stark Tower, trying to blow off some of the steam that had built up in him.

Seriously, where was a super villain when you needed one?

Peter _really _wanted to smash something.

The teen stormed through his living area, throwing his bag and shoes around with little regard, and then made his way, barefoot, to his dads lab.

"Daaaad, I need you to help me fix…whoa, what's going on?" Peter asked, his petty sadness and anger forgotten as he caught the looks on his parents faces as they huddled over a holoscreen. The two super heroes regarded their son with drawn, pale faces.

"Should we tell him?" Steve questioned softly, making Peter's eyebrows draw up in consternation.

"We might as well. It sort of involves him," Tony said tiredly, and beckoned Peter over. He looked at the screen and saw what looked like security footage, time stamped for the previous evening. Peter almost asked what this was about, but decided just to watch the footage.

A few minutes later, Peter looked just as pale and drawn as his parents. He swallowed a few times, and looked at his parents.

"Was that…was that Bruce's voice?" he asked softly. They nodded simultaneously, and Peter had to sit down on a nearby stool.

"What...what does this mean?" he questioned softly. Tony shrugged and Steve just shook his hand.

"We don't know…but we think…we think we must have a ghost," Steve said, and Peter nodded dumbly. That made…as much sense as anything else.

"Well," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's go with it."

X0x0x0x0X

Bruce was cold, but that was familiar. Cold was good. Cold meant that the Trini were far away from wherever he was, and that was always a plus. He shivered slightly in his fur coat, wondering why, again, that he couldn't figure out the ingredients needed to get back home.

"You're over thinking it, Grenil," came the soft voice of the witch who had taken him in when he had escaped the Trini. He sighed in frustration, throwing down the basil leaves he had been toying with into the cauldron, smiling with a vicious satisfaction when the liquid in the pot went from shimmering blue to a dark, sludge like green.

"You keep telling me that, but I don't know what I'm overthinking!" he snarled, jerking when her cool hand touched his shoulder. She chuckled softly, her blue eyes glowing in the dim light of the potion room.

"You cast your spirit out into their realm, did you not?" Selendryl questioned softly and Bruce sighed softly, running a hand through his mostly-grey hair.

"Yes," he said, smiling softly at the memory. He'd been little more than a specter with his lovers, but it had been magical…

"And what led you there?"

"I…I remembered what it was like, to lay with them. To be loved…" he said, remembering the catalyst memory that had thrown him into the world he had come from.

Selendryl waved her hand over his cauldron, making the gross sludge disappear and he sighed. "Perhaps, then, what you need is an anchor. If you have an anchor in the other world, moving your physical body and soul will be easier," the witch said with a smile, and Bruce returned the expression, possibilities flooding his brain.

There was no science in this world; it was medieval, harsh and people died more than they lived. But there was magic, and once he had escaped the grip of the Trini, he had immersed himself in the practice. It was similar to his science in that it had rules and limitless possibilities.

It had taken three years to escape the Trini and fourteen years to get to this point in his life, but he was finally close to getting back.

He was going home.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, loves. I hope you don't want to kill me too much. Reviews are drugs and good things come to those who wait so…hang in there.


	3. Chapter 3

Breathe in. Breathe out. Center. Control. Focus. He had focus. Didn't he? He was focusing on this. It was important.

Everyone thought he was stupid. Everyone thought he was crazy, spouting off crazy-person nonsense about how everything they said and did being controlled by mystic authors who wanted nothing more than to see how far they could be stretched, bent and made anew.

He opened his eyes, and he grinned as he was met with the sight of himself...over and over. There had to be thousands of different versions, muttering to himself, some smaller, some larger, some cinematic, some poorly drawn. But they were all there; every Deadpool, in every form, every fiction, every canon, every comic book and every movie. He was there, he was real, all of him, every single one of him.

It was these moments, looking at the sea of red and black masks, that kept him sane. He knew that he was real, in a sense, and would be real for a long time to come; even after his particular story ended, there would be another. He wouldn't die; not really, not truly. There would always be another Deadpool, just like there would always be another Romeo, another Juilet, another Harry Potter. The written word was sacred; it would outlive them all, all the authors that wanted to bend them, twist them, change them and break them. They would never understand that what they did was so much more powerful than they realized; they didn't know what their words, their art, their _ideas _created.

Well, perhaps _his _particular author had it figured out. She seemed pretty perceptive.

"But once a word is written," he murmured softly, and the next words were echoed by all of him, thousands of whispered voices layered atop one another. "The author cannot undo it."

A shiver went through thousands of spines, and the Original -the big man, the first and only original Deadpool- walked up to him, his eyes narrowed through his mask.

"You're playing a dangerous game, letting your author write this," he said softly. Wade blinked at the Original and he sighed, pulling off his mask. His scars were silver, different than most of the others, and were thin, crisscrossing lines rather than gouged sores.

"I know," he said, equally soft. "But it's part of my story; probably part of hers too. For all I know, she has her own author."

The Original snorted, and Wade suddenly found himself slammed into the ground, a thick hand around his throat, several guns pointed at him. He gulped; healing factor or not, even one bullet or knifewound from the Deadpools around him and he would be gone. Not dead, no; his words wouldn't be written anymore. He simply wouldn't exist anymore.

"You should know better than any of us what kind of risk your taking; especially if your author _does _have an author. If they find out we _know, _we're all supremely fucked."

Wade gulped, and opened his mouth, a voice not his own escaping his own as he spoke. "Don't worry, Merc. I know what I'm doing. _They'll _never know."

The Original tilted his head to the side, looking slightly confused as he considered Wade. After a long moment of Wade thinking he wasn't going to leave this meeting alive -or at all, really- the pressure around his throat vanished as the Original stood up, dusting himself off.

"Be careful. Too many people already know about these meetings. We won't be able to have another for a while," he said, and a murmur went through the crowd, some wanting to argue, but all knowing better. The last Deadpool who challenged the Original was still hanging, skinned and bleeding, on one wall of the meeting room. Deadpools began disappearing, and Wade swallowed as they all vanished, one by one, until only he and the Original remained.

"So...are you going to kill me?" Wade asked. The Original laughed.

"No, kid. I just wanted to warn you to be careful...it won't do any good to get close to your author. It will only end badly, for the both of you."

Wade nodded slowly, popping his knuckles one by one as he thought. "I know. We're already too close. Just from her writing this, this part of me...she knows too much. _We _know too much. Why do we know we're not real?"

The Original snorted again. "Kid, just because we were written into existence doesn't mean we aren't real."

Wade opened his mouth to ask what the hell the Original meant by that, but he felt the tug in his gut that meant his world was calling hims back, and he sighed as he opened his eyes to the sight of his own apartment. It was surprisingly neat and tidy, and he was glad; he was absolutely exhausted, and all he wanted to do was crawl in bed and rest. Traveling through the Fourth Wall was never pleasant, and it always drained energy Wade knew he really didn't have to spare.

X0x0x0x0X

Odd things continued happening at Stark Tower as the weeks progressed. More video showed up of things being moved about Tony's workshop, the door to their room would open without anyone coming through late at night, the bed would dip and the two of them would part to allow for the space of one lanky scientist.

They were always asleep when it happened; it didn't matter if they stayed up hyped up on coffee or told JARVIS to wake them when the weird phenomena began to happen, they were always knocked out by the time the door opened, with no logical explanation as to why their brains had suddenly decided to shut down.

It was two weeks after the phenomena began that the notes began to appear.

The first one that appeared was short and nearly gave Tony a heart attack because it was written in a familiar, almost illegible scrawl. It was on their pillow, just between Steve and Tony, folded neatly on some weird, thick paper. It was simple, beautiful, and utterly impossible.

_I love you._

_Bruce, 11/03/31_

Steve started hyperventilating when they read it, and Tony promptly fainted again. After that first note, however, more and more began appearing, and not just when they were sleeping. Some would appear in Tony's workshop, some in Steve's art studio, and even one in Peter's backpack. From what they said, Steve and Tony were told that Bruce had been transported to another dimension by that ray they had thought had killed him, and he was slowly trying to make his way back in a land that offered little in the way of technology.

Tony was ecstatic. He began throwing himself into trying to build a working portal machine, and every time one of Bruce's notes would appear, his heart would skip a beat. Steve spent more and more time in the workshop, just wanting to be near his husband as he worked on getting back the missing man that made them a perfect trinity.

Bruce was coming home.

A/N: Sorry for the horrendous wait my dearies. I had almost given up hope on this, but then bam, inspiration struck. Hope you like it.


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